I’ll start in Wildling Wood,
believing in magic and creaky swings.
Here there be dragons,
and wander worlds and infinite
blanks and daisy chains.
I’ll ponder over rum
-bled phrase, how many
it takes to start a revolution (late).
We’ll switch giggles to 5,
guffaws at 8 and all midnight
ball aubades walking on eggshells
shall be cancelled.
We’ll rage quit and wear green
-blue gowns and laugh in flowers
and murmur things like
there’s no place like home
fill me, quill me
in our sleep.
Orion Alice ungracious ghosts
whether love be a day
or just a smallish dragon in disguise.
We’re fresh out
of white rabbits and foresight
Neverland skyscrapers and lamps,
but we’ve got stories of wolves
and snow and sea.
(long story short), we
are slipper-cloud origin stories,
rear windows facing murder.
This particular poem
is the sacred language of dawn
that copper taste in disappointed mouth
all falling stars and pennies.
It’s got us sentencing the moon
convicted of our secret shenanigans
(though the dragons really did it)
for 13 summers and 17 long lost syllables.
to someone important (punnery notwithstanding),
lady I swear by all flowers
-see persona’s gone down the john.
Suddenly (by way of introduction),
a rogue poem. The grimace of a masked
and fractured moon. The altered state of
spare change gone too soon.
The first stone’s thrown
(Act I), and we can run or sigh
language our way, writing in airports
our smallish dreams.
It seems we may have bimbled
our anthropology, but it’s simple
really: give me a pretty how town
(a place to sink or swim)
and I am
PAD, day 28. If you’ve been around the PAD challenge for any length of time, you know there’s always a “remix” day. So this is the one with all the titles. Mostly in order, backwards.